


The Simple Reason That I Want

by QuillFeathers



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A sprinkling of plot, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, First Kiss, Frottage, M/M, the paper cut trope, there's a wall, vampiric major crest bearers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillFeathers/pseuds/QuillFeathers
Summary: “I wait for you because I want to,” Felix blurts out, glancing back and away again. “Do you not want me to?”--Have to; need to; want to. Staying alive might require two, but are you really living without the third?(written for dimilix week 2021 Day 2: blood)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 12
Kudos: 59
Collections: 2021 Dimilix Week





	The Simple Reason That I Want

**Author's Note:**

> You ask me who is more into the biting and I simply reply: both of them.

\-------------------------  
have to - required to do so; obligations  
\-------------------------

They don't tell children born with major crests about the poison of it.

Camouflaged in stories of major-crested Kyphon turning the tide of battle, of great alliances and partnership. A backdrop to talk of crest bearers being lucky. How those with major crests are luckier, in being even closer to the goddess.

They don't tell you until you're a little older, that mere mortal bodies can't seem to handle that extra bit of power supposedly gifted to you.

Then, fed gradually in lessons.

The slow passage of time and repeated major crest activation taints your blood and renders you useless and dead, if you don't replenish. The donor should be willing. Crested? Even better. A match, like Loog and Kyphon, bearing crests that both lend to strength or magic? Excellent.

Wrong.

Felix finds nothing excellent about having your friend, whom you love more than anything else left in the world, practically begging you to drink his blood the night before your maiden battle.

“I'll be fine!” Felix insists, both pushing Dimitri's bare arm away and not letting go. “I can find you after.” He struggles to keep his voice from pitching high. “Besides, it doesn't have to be you.”

He can't figure out why Dimitri looks scared now. He hadn't yesterday or after finalizing the decision to march to western Faerghus himself. Or after waking up finding himself an orphan. Yet now, with the two of them left alone in Dimitri's tent, his eyes are bright with unmasked worry.

Dimitri takes one of Felix's wrists gently, testing the give of his elbow and creating a tangle of limbs to match the tautness of the step of space between them. “You know it would be best.”

Felix frowns at him.

 _Best_.

Stupid Blaiddyd and Fraldarius compatibility.

He knows the smell of Dimitri's blood, but not the taste, despite growing up knowing that one day he likely would. Would need it, on a battlefield or campaign, to help his king win. It's so close here, flowing under Dimitri’s skin and beneath Felix's fingers. And Dimitri knows the closeness is tempting.

It's all about advantages, in the lessons. So what if you need to—have to—drink blood? You can smell crest-bearers in a field like a predator can smell prey. Fangs primed and at the ready to borrow strength or to seek out an injured ally. A small price to pay, to be so useful.

“I want you to be safe.”

Heat creeps into Felix's face. “What about you? I want you to be safe,” he counters weakly.

“Then give me one less thing to worry about.” Dimitri smiles, an expression that Felix has not seen often since the ambush. “I know you can handle yourself, Felix, yet that will not stop my worry.” He squeezes Felix's wrist. “Please. I want you to.”

Dimitri doesn't say 'I want' for himself often. A few strands of blond fall forward to obscure his features as he dips his head at the admission. In an effort to reassure him Felix tugs at his arm, but Dimitri must not expect it because he stumbles a step forward in surprise.

Felix would laugh at him if their faces weren't suddenly so close. He gets a bit lost in Dimitri's widened blue eyes at about the same time ancient instinct at the back of his mind points out how fast the prince's pulse is rabbiting. How good he smells.

From outside the tent, there's a clattering of armor and a laugh.

Dimitri quickly leans away, pushing his wrist up toward Felix so fast he practically smacks him in the face. “Please,” he repeats. “Do it so you can be at your strongest.”

Slowly, gingerly, Felix flips Dimitri's forearm over, even more hesitantly swiping his tongue along his wrist. Felix has never bitten anyone, but there are lessons on that too. Adapted saliva to clean and to quickly heal. He has drunk blood before, though, usually poured from his father or Glenn out of convenience. The blood of crest bearers smelled different and usually had a stronger taste, but at the first beat of coppery tang on his tongue, Felix knows Dimitri’s is better than anyone else’s.

His eyes close subconsciously before the first swallow, shoulders slumping and sighing through his nose, and he hopes Dimitri is too distracted to hear the tiny, embarrassing noise he makes at the first swallow.

He means to stop at two, even if it would probably annoy Dimitri, but then it's three, and then four, and he doesn't even know why it tastes so good because it's _just Dimitri_.

It's the warmth of fingers curling around his hand where it rests in Dimitri's palm that lures the rest of the world back into focus. Felix unsheathes his fangs abruptly, immediately apologizing when Dimitri tenses in pain. He goes back and proceeds to spend a little too much time making certain that the bleeding has stopped.

“Good?” Dimitri asks when he finally raises his head.

Felix nods, unwilling to talk for once, at least until he's certain there's no blood on his teeth. Maybe they should have done this tomorrow instead, right before the battle. But he can't stand the silence while Dimitri idly looks at his wrist, so he settles for covering his face with a hand sheepishly.

“Thank you.”

Dimitri's eyes crinkle a bit, the arm that Felix had just fed from raising as if to pluck Felix's shield away, but his attention darts to the entry of the tent before he reaches it.

“Your Highness?” Someone inquires from outside. “The last scouts have returned.”

“One moment,” Dimitri replies, stepping away from Felix to retrieve his gloves.

Felix wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket to be certain there's no evidence, even if half the camp wouldn't flinch at seeing any. No one will even question him emerging from Dimitri's tent, as close as they are known to be.

And it is basically expected, that Felix would feed from Dimitri.

It takes forever for Felix to fall asleep that night, but he manages eventually.

The next day his crest activates more than once, but he only feels winded when he sees Dimitri covered in blood.

None of it is Dimitri's own.

Felix is frozen between his body's want and his heart's fear of Dimitri's bloody smile.

\-------------------------  
need to - to reach a goal; should be done  
\-------------------------

He doesn't forget the taste of Dimitri's blood, and when they're both at Garreg Mach it's impossible to forget the scent. Felix drinks from Sylvain or Ingrid, early on in the year, scoffing at any attempt of Dimitri's to offer. Until Felix cuts him during an evening sparring match, his crest having activated.

Dimitri follows Felix's transfixed line of sight to the oozing slice below his elbow and shrugs, his “Why waste it?” barely registered in Felix’s head before he’s at his side.

There's no one else around to see Felix's wall of disgust falter.

He doesn't need to accept Dimitri's blood the next time, either.

Felix just can't seem to actually tear himself completely away.

Now he prowls at the edge of the shadows cast within the ruined cathedral. A hungry wolf at the edge of a camp, knowing full well the danger that the fire at the center presents but still having had too many positive memories to shirk a good meal.

Dimitri shifts his feet ever so slightly at Felix’s slow approach, not looking at him. “You do not have to drink from me.”

“I don’t.”

Felix wonders if Dimitri remembers himself asking Felix to drink, all those years ago. The nervousness that had been in his voice.

“Come here, then,” he orders now. “We need you at your best.”

At that Felix stops in his tracks and audibly snarls. No. Dimitri wants him as his weapon. His ghosts’ weapon. There is no plea to Felix. No request for him to be safe. He doesn’t care at all whether or not Felix is here.

Dimitri mutters something under his breath, his right hand reaching to tug at the gauntlet on his left. Felix swallows as the echo of the metal hitting the ground resounds around them, biting his tongue before it reflexively darts out to his lips, and any scathing remark he could make along with it.

“Do you despise me enough to weaken yourself?” Dimitri asks, removing the final layer of cloth covering his hand and wrist.

_Too late._

Felix stomps forward. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

As if he plans on dying. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it? Taking the Bridge of Myrddin from the Empire is a daunting task, and if his father offers his blood one more time Felix is going to go insane.

And he is thirsty.

One could spin the image of Dimitri’s hanging arm as an offering. To help the blood flow to Felix’s mouth.

Felix licks his lips, cursing himself even as he does so, and kneels.

“Victims of bloodlust, the both of us,” Dimitri says. Sighs. Whispers.

Felix makes sure to bite down hard.

He doesn’t lick the puncture wounds clean, even if he wants to.

_Do you want me to?_

This is what he almost asks Dimitri when he finds Felix collapsed on the steps of the training yard amid the ruin of an irresponsible number of broken practice dummies.

It’s two days after their tinged victory at Gronder Field, and Felix's sword arm is trembling.

The only thing left in the room for him to take his feelings out on is Dimitri, who silently crouches in front of him. There's no gauntlet to take off this time, merely the rolling up of Dimitri's sleeve. The dust it leaves trailed up his extended wrist.

“I do not ever wish—. You are not just a weapon. You are not just a shield.”

The first give of Dimitri’s skin feels like a reparation.

When he's satiated, Felix licks the salt of his own tears away.

\-------------------------  
want to - feel like you would like to; desire or wish  
\-------------------------

Spending time at Derdriu to regroup is both a blessing and a curse. More troops? Great. Listening to what seems like every one of the Alliance nobility drivel on and on after swearing fealty? Very annoying.

Felix is impatient. Dimitri glances at him apologetically several times throughout the afternoon as more letters and more troops and more supplies arrive. Eventually, Felix abandons the bustling halls to help reorganize ranks and arrivals outside, but after that, he finds himself simply patrolling down another seaside road. The Alliance lords know the city and their men better than the Kingdom generals, and there's only so much to do while everyone gets initially settled.

The knowledge that he could ask Sylvain or Ingrid for blood scratches at the back of his throat, and eventually even the returning locals' curious glances at him irk Felix enough to return to the main building that they've set themselves up in, where the roundtable usually convened.

When he crosses the doorway the scent of Dimitri's blood hits his nose like a physical blow.

Felix freezes.

No one else looks alarmed.

But his feet are carrying him anyway at a brisk walk, on high alert despite no evidence of anything else suspicious.

It's not that strong of a scent.

Just a small amount spilled.

Felix's habit of often stomping around saves him from being stopped. Adrenaline carries him right to the door to the room that he shoves open without knocking, pivoting to close it behind himself immediately.

Dimitri's head jerks up. “Felix” He's bent over the desk at the end of the office, flanked by completely intact windows and an undisturbed room. “I am surprised you did not arrive here sooner.”

Felix tries to not look like he was just minorly terrified. “I went outside for fresh air.”

Dimitri appropriately looks like he's trying to look like he buys any of Felix's nonchalance. “I see.”

“Why do I smell your blood?”

There. Color rises a bit to Dimitri's face. “Is that how you found me?” He raises his left hand, looking down either to go back to reading or to hide his blush. “I am afraid I am not so inclined to grip parchment gently anymore. I managed to slice my palm and then my thumb, shuffling a single stack of assignment papers.”

Felix feels his shoulders slump, but the tension he's holding doesn't completely dissipate. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone he can tell the scent he has trailed isn’t fresh, but he can imagine the taste of it too well.

“Are you meeting anyone here in the next ten minutes?”

“No, I told Dedue and the Professor I would be along in a bit. There have been so many people in and out of here today. I feel I likely made some mistakes in—. Oh.” Dimitri looks up again. “Yes, of course. I should have called a break earlier, Felix. Thank you for being patient.”

He steps around the desk, reaching for the cuff of a sleeve. It's still weirdly distracting to see him out of his full armor, even though they spar enough to where it’s common enough. It's not like before when Dimitri had lived in it and his head, mostly dead to the rest of the world.

“It's fine,” Felix mutters, more to himself. “It's not like I've been starving myself.”

His hunger hasn't been particularly high after the fight to aid Riegan. He could probably go over a month without feeding if his crest didn't activate.

Smelling Dimitri's blood. That's what had brought this on.

“I should hope not,” Dimitri says. “I do not want you to ever think that you have to wait for me.”

“I don't even need it right now.”

Felix doesn't know why he says that.

_Why Dimitri said that._

Felix pointedly looks past Dimitri's shoulder.

Dimitri sounds like he's frowning. “Were you not waiting for me, earlier?”

“I wait for you because I want to,” Felix blurts out, glancing back and away again. “Do you not want me to?”

“I do not expect you to.” Dimitri leans back on the desk, one sleeve sill rolled up, looking like he's settling in for a long conversation.

Anger flares up in Felix's chest. Dimitri is so goddess-damned difficult. Felix doesn't want a long conversation. He wants a very short answer. Dimitri raises his arm when he starts toward him, maybe thinking that he can talk while Felix feeds, but Felix snatches his hand instead, face on fire, and squeezes it like a lifeline.

“What do you _want_ , Dimitri? I keep coming back, in case you haven't noticed.” The room is starting to feel like a tent, and Felix is starting to feel small. “And not just to drink from you.”

“Not just to—” All the energy seems to drain from Dimitri at once. “Felix.”

“No,” Felix threatens. “Don't turn it around. You—”

“You.” Dimitri parrots.

Felix snaps his mouth shut.

Dimitri takes his silence as an opportunity to raise their joined hands, kissing Felix's knuckles. “I do want you, Felix. I want you to keep saying my name when others will not. To keep challenging me in every way you always have”—he snakes his other arm around Felix's waist to draw him closer—“and to keep returning to my side.”

Felix is the one that closes the last bit of distance required to touch their lips together. It's quick, chaste, and effectively shuts Dimitri up for less than two seconds, made all the worse by the way he speaks quietly into Felix's ear.

“And, yes, I would like it if you only came to me, when you need blood.”

Felix can't suppress the shiver that rattles his frame, tries to hide it in another kiss. This time Dimitri chases him when he goes to pull away. Caught off guard between the arm at his back and the hand that slips into his hair, his breath catches audibly when Dimitri speaks again, mouths still brushing each other. Sharing air.

“Do you want my neck? I would let you, if you want.”

“What do you think?” Felix growls, sealing the distance right back away again.

Feeding from someone’s neck is intimate. Too risky on a battlefield and too risque for public view. The thought of it makes Felix's movements more desperate, pressing into Dimitri's space, between his knees, nipping at the smirk of his mouth. He starts to tug at the collar of Dimitri's shirt.

The forever defensive part of Felix's brain chooses then to unhelpfully point out that there are a lot of windows at Dimitri's back and they are only on the second floor.

“Come here,” he orders, guiding Dimitri up. Away from the offending glass.

They don't get far. Dimitri must get the idea, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the desk, but then he's leaning back to Felix. Felix's hands sliding up to the muscle of Dimitri's triceps don't help, nor does Dimitri's tongue licking into his mouth and the way Felix's teeth are aching to bite. He wants to leave marks. The whole damn kingdom already wants him, has him, tied to Dimitri, fuck them if they don't want a visual reminder of it.

Dimitri does indeed get the idea. He herds Felix back until his heels hit the wall. Felix considers trying to remember how to think properly until Dimitri shifts his hair to the side and exposes his neck again.

Felix twists a hand into his hair and brings him closer, the wall the only thing keeping them up. Dimitri breathes out his name in what sounds like a plea. The fact that he's letting Felix hold him, defenses down and lifeblood exposed, feels like the most significant thing in the world. Felix unashamedly buries his nose into the junction of his neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent.

Deep, quiet woods. Warm sharp metal that slips too easily under his skin.

They both groan when Felix finally sinks his fangs in.

The flow of blood is faster here. Three swallows feels like nine. Felix gasps like he's coming up from drowning. Licks the punctures once before pressing open-mouthed kisses a little higher up the curve of Dimitri's neck.

“Felix?” Dimitri hisses, making no move to create space between them. He's got one hand at Felix's hip and the other curled into a loose fist on the wall.

Felix bites the chord of muscle under his ear lightly with blunted teeth. “What?”

“You did not drink much.”

A spark of heady realization shoots through Felix at the evident mirrored arousal between their legs when Dimitri shifts, but before he can reach between them he's hoisted up the wall instead, nails digging into Dimitri's shoulder at the friction.

“How does this help?” Felix's gasps, hips stuttering forward, Dimitri's fingertips imprinting into his upper thigh.

“You can take more.” Dimitri's nuzzles into his jawline, pressing him back.

Felix pulls his hair. Forces his head back up and kisses him some more. Digs his heel into the back of Dimitri’s knee and urges a slow grind while their tongues twist together. He can't do much, held as he is, but that doesn't matter because the implication and Dimitri's stupid Blaiddyd strength is embarrassingly heady.

“Yes.” His hands drop to his belt, easily unclasping it without looking, tugging his hardening cock free with a relieved moan. Then he goes immediately for the front of Dimitri's trousers, who doesn’t seem to mind curious fingers mapping the shape of him.

“I have. Wanted you to bite me there. For so long,” Dimitri growls back into Felix’s mouth. He drags a choked off moan out of Felix's lungs, running the tip of his tongue over the point of a fang. “Felix.”

“Fuck.” Felix smacks his head back on the wall at the tease. “Just...hah. Touch me already.”

Dimitri bats his fumbling hand away to pull himself free, wrapping around both of their shafts. The pace he sets is hard and quick.

Felix knows that Dimitri pursues what he wants with fervor, but he hadn’t thought about the possibility of unfiltered, greedy confessions. _I like. That you only want me._ licked at the shell of Felix’s ear, voice rough-edged and low. _I like the look of my blood painted on your lips._ Panted over the hollow of his throat.

Caged by Dimitri’s weight and the bruising grip still at his thigh, Felix clings to his shoulders. He drags out the anticipation until he can’t seem to stop making noise.

Then he bites him again. Goes for the same spot as the first, delighting in the way he can feel the muscles of Dimitri’s abdomen jump. The delicious tightening of his hand. Felix is dizzy with it. With _him_. The way Dimitri’s breath hitches audibly before rolling into a moan. The salt at his skin as he licks the bite clean.

Felix pulls away with a groan at a slick twist over the head of his cock, Dimitri’s hand pumping faster. Dimitri suddenly licks up the column of his throat in turn and Felix loses the rhythm, and then all the tension in his body snaps at the sharp threat of teeth.

Dimitri returns to muffle the shuddering noises he makes with a filthy kiss, sending sparks of aftershock through Felix until he tips over the edge himself, slowing when Felix can’t help but squirm in discomfort.

In the sanctuary of their slowing breathing, Felix presses at the bruise forming above the mark of his fangs.

Dimitri hums with what can only be satisfaction, pressing a kiss to Felix’s temple and dodging the half-hearted swat he gets. He wipes his hand on a conveniently-forgotten napkin beside a tray with a pitcher of water before retrieving his shirt.

Felix blatantly watches while he puts it back on. Belatedly remembering his own belt and cloak on the floor, he slowly comes to terms with the fact that they are both idiots, and too easily could have been walked in on. He feels ridiculous even just attempting to fix the tangled mess of his hair in the middle of the room.

“Where is everyone?” He asks. “Where were you meeting the others?”

The light in the windows is not the bright shine of the afternoon. How much of the day had he actually been wandering around outside, waiting?

A tiny smirk forms on Dimitri’s face, seeing Felix’s hair down, and he recrosses the room. “Eating supper, probably. I...besides checking my work, I had wished to have the room and some quiet to myself, before going to the hall. You, though, I would like to share a room with...and a bath. If you are not opposed to it.” He drops his forehead to Felix’s shoulder. “Are you still hungry? We can stop along the way.”

Felix tries very, very hard not to smile.

“If you want me to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't really know where we were going with the last part of this fic, but Dimitri did.


End file.
